Twisted Princess Tales
by Wounded Melody
Summary: Inspired by the "Twisted Princess" fan art, these stories take a darker look at the Princesses and Ladies of Disney.
1. Mulan

All the fics in this series are inspired by the "Twisted Princess" fan art of Jeffrey Thomas.  
All the characters in this fic belong to Disney et al and I do not profit from this story.  
Happy Halloween!  
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**Twisted Princess Tales: Mulan**

The tale of Fa Mulan is whispered only among the elders of the villages that dot her homeland of China. Over cups of hot tea, they relate this tale:

Fa Mulan was the only child of an honored, yet elderly, former soldier in the Imperial Army. When the Huns began their invasion of China, the eldest male in every household was expected to join the army to fight for the Emperor. Since the Fa family had no sons, the task fell to the patriarch, despite his age and growing infirmity. So great was Mulan's filial piety that she decided to take her father's place. Cutting her hair and donning her father's armor, she took her horse to the camp and passed herself off as the black sheep son of the Fa family who had returned to fulfill his duty. At the great battle of the mountain, Mulan was able to strike down most of the Hun force, by causing an avalanche that buried them beneath crushing snow and ice. Brave daughter even saved the life of the commander, the warrior son Li Shang. Yet it was soon seen that she had suffered a sword cut across the abdomen, and, with her life blood dotting the white plain with blossoms of red, she collapsed.

Hours later, the wounded daughter somehow awoke, and she found her midsection, from breast to hip, wrapped in bandages. Her secret discovered, she was placed on trial at that very moment, thrown face down into the snow. At the feet of Li Shang, she proudly proclaimed what she had done to save her father's life and reminded everyone at how she had saved all of their lives as well. The chorus of male voices indicted her, for the crime of not being a man, and Shang drew his sword to impose sentence. Before the blade fell upon her neck, she cursed them all, promised that the Empire would fall and she would return to have her revenge.

Even as the falling snow buried her body, her curse became truth, as the surviving Huns attacked the Emperor and mortally wounded him, before they lost their own lives to his army. The Empire would now suffer turmoil as the heirs of the slain ruler fought and played at intrigue in order to obtain the throne. Shang and his soldiers returned home in disgrace, living in shame for one year. On the anniversary of honorable daughter Mulan's murder, her hand broke through the snow of her makeshift grave, and she clawed her way out. Yet this was not the same flower that had selfishly sacrificed her lift; this was a lifeless body, preserved by the cold and animated by a vengeful spirit, a dark dragon-like shape that coiled itself, tattoo like, upon her arm. The head had found neck again, fused together with some dark force. Her body was clothed half in her father's armor, and half in the mimicry of the dress her mother had made her to wear for the match making ceremony. Scars and wounds cut through the fabrics and skin, yet did not bleed. Arrows shot a year ago now used her shoulder like a quiver, awaiting her hand to guide. Eyes and skin were white, even more than the snow at her feet. This vengeful creature called out to the murderers of its host, caused them to travel back to this mountain without knowing why. It was here that she slayed them, with arrow and sword, and some even found themselves losing limbs and life to dark claws and fangs. Shang was left for last, and as he knelt in the snow, she reminded him of his evil deeds, then brought the sword down upon him just as he had done a year ago.

The elders tell this tale when a grandchild or cousin or other kin go missing, their blood linked, no matter how small, to those who had condemned sweet daughter Mulan. These relatives of the murderers are said to be called to the mountain, loosing their lives to sword and arrow and claw and fang. They say the spirit will not rest until it has sated it's desire for vengeance upon every living relative of those who wronged the dutiful and always remembered daughter Mulan.


	2. Pocahontas

All the fics in this series are inspired by the "Twisted Princess" fan art of Jeffrey Thomas.  
All the characters in this fic belong to Disney et al and I do not profit from this story. Candarians  
and other "Evil Dead" references belong to Sam Raimi et al.  
Happy Halloween!  
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**Twisted Princess Tales: Pocahontas**

This written record bears testament to the facts concerning my dearest friend, who has long been maligned in the tales that the settlers tell. The daughter of our tribal chief was a brave and strong woman, who bore the name of Pocahontas, which told of her mischievous side as well.

She was one of the first of us to embrace the cause of the strange pale people who came to our land from beyond the oceans. My dearest friend even held great affection for the one called 'John Smith'. Short was their love, if he even held such emotions for her as she did for him. His goal was to gain trust among my people so that his could, like the worm, bore into the middle of our land and turning us to rot, from inside to out, as the worm ridden apple's fate. These people brought terrible curses upon us, causing sickness and death the likes of which have never been seen in the whole history of our tribe. Even the poor animals of the forest suffered these curses. One day, the trickster raccoon Meeko no longer came to play among our feet and steal away kernels of maize from our baskets. Instead, he sulked among the shadows, a wild look in his eyes and whiteness falling from his mouth like snow. He even swiped at my dearest friend's arm! The wound was not deep, but it was from then that I saw a change in her. She would go deep into the forest for days, and when she returned she would speak of 'Grandmother Willow'. The ancient tree spoke to her, she said, of the Candarians, a long gone people who still roamed the woods in spirit form, who would give her the power to destroy the settlers if she would only do as they asked: _Join us_.

In the days before the massacre, John Smith went missing, and my dearest friend was seen wearing his metal clothing upon her arm, covering the scars left by Meeko's claws. The settlers turned against my people, who, already weakened by strange illnesses, either fell to the trespassers' weapons, or fled away to the hills and mountains. I ran only as far as the forest, for as I reached the edge I saw the figure of my dearest friend emerge from the shadowy foliage. She did not act or look as my dearest friend any longer...instead of peaceful talk she wielded knife and tomahawk, their edges cutting through pale skin, their blood upon her face like war paint, their skulls hanging from her belt as spoils from a hunt. She killed nearly all of them in the span of one moon, those still alive fled from the land back to the waters. I approached my dearest friend as the sun began to rise above the horizon, which allowed me to see her face, one that no longer held love or patience, and her voice spoke in a pitch so strange that I was scared to my very spirit, her only words to me being "_Join us_".

I am now in my eightieth season. Throughout these long years I have often heard stories from the pale skin invaders who returned to our land in greater and greater numbers, until they were the only ones who lived where I and my dearest friend used to play as innocent children. They seek me out now, believing I hold some kind of power. They come to my cabin in the woods, despite their fear, but only in the daylight. I do not care enough to tell them this makes no difference. They speak of a copper skinned woman who, in the moonlight of her hunts, glistens with metal and blood, an awful clawed creature perched on her shoulder. It is when they see her that people from their villages, from their families, disappear mysteriously, and screams are heard coming from deep within the woods. There is no comfort nor advice nor even 'magic' that I can offer them. The last thing I tell them, while they can still hear, are the facts concerning my dearest friend, who has long been maligned in the tales that the settlers tell...

_signed, _

_Nakoma, 16xx_


End file.
